


Just a Touch (Does That Scare You?)

by thebeastinme



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Pepper Potts, Bisexual Peter Parker, Cussing, Dissociation, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/M, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Adopted Child, Harley Keener-centric, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeastinme/pseuds/thebeastinme
Summary: When Harley moved into the Tower, after he’d been adopted by Tony and Pepper, he’d spent his time evenly split between the rooftop garden and Tony’s lab. It was their space, the two of them, space for any and all ideas, space for wild mechanics to break the laws of physics. Harley lived for seeing the way building lit up Tony’s face. For a while, he didn’t know there would ever be a better feeling than when Tony and him would solve a problem, and Tony would ruffle his hair, telling him, good job, kiddo, time to take a break before Pep rips me a new one for being up so late.Point is, Harley loves the lab. He loves Tony, and he loves Pepper, and he loves the little family they’ve built for themselves. He doesn’t think it can get any better.Then, Germany happens, and the Accords go down in flames, and Pepper and Harley sit in front of the tv together, pressed side-to-side, watching the feed from Tony’s helmet as he fights his own team, and then Cap and the Winter Soldier, and they leave him for dead.aka: Harley's journey of taking his internalized coping mechanisms (thanks, tony) and discovering they're absolute trash, and meeting the love of his very young life. he's hoping to make it to college.
Relationships: Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sam Smith’s “To Die For” – the song is on a Parkner playlist I found, and it played pretty much on repeat while I wrote this.
> 
> Trigger Warning: this fic will hit some heavy topics - i am going to do my best to put content warning before each chapter, but i am human and if you find something triggering but I don't have it marked, please please please let me know so I can mark it. my inbox is always open, and i welcome any and all feedback. 
> 
> for this chapter: mainly just anxiety, and spiraling thoughts. please reach out if you need or want to talk, my inbox is always open :)

When Harley moved into the Tower, after he’d been adopted by Tony and Pepper, he’d spent his time evenly split between the rooftop garden and Tony’s lab. It was their space, the two of them, space for any and all ideas, space for wild mechanics to break the laws of physics. Harley lived for seeing the way building lit up Tony’s face. For a while, he didn’t know there would ever be a better feeling than when Tony and him would solve a problem, and Tony would ruffle his hair, telling him, _good job, kiddo, time to take a break before Pep rips me a new one for being up so late_.

Point is, Harley loves the lab. He loves Tony, and he loves Pepper, and he loves the little family they’ve built for themselves. He doesn’t think it can get any better.

Then, Germany happens, and the Accords go down in flames, and Pepper and Harley sit in front of the tv together, pressed side-to-side, watching the feed from Tony’s helmet as he fights his own team, and then Cap and the Winter Soldier, and they leave him for dead. They go get him, Harley piloting the quinjet, Happy and Pepper aboard, two sets of armor that Harley’d hacked flanking them through the atmosphere, and they bring Tony home. Harley takes one side, and Happy takes the other, and they fly out to the Compound, the four of them joining Rhodes.

It’s only after, when Tony’s resting in the Med Bay, and Rhodes is out of surgery again, and Pepper is asleep, that Harley slips out, finds his way to the lab, and tinkers. He pulls up the footage from the fights, again, and analyzes it, over, and over, and he sees what he’d missed earlier – that red and blue spider kid that had caught a plane? Yeah, he’d been wearing the hypothetical suit that Tony had asked Harley to design not a month before. 

So, yeah, Harley’s a bit pissed, but he’s also grateful that he still has a person to be pissed at, so he tamps it down, and starts designing a better suit. He works for sixteen hours, ignoring Friday’s alerts, ignoring Pepper’s messages, until Happy hauls him out of the lab, drags him to the Med Bay, pushes him onto Tony’s bed.

It’s then that he breaks, when he sees that Tony’s okay, he’s going to be okay, Tony is sitting up, in front of him, only connected to monitoring, and Pepper isn’t asleep by his bedside anymore, and Harley bawls, for the better part of an hour, he sobs on Tony’s chest until Dr. Cho comes in and threatens to sedate him.

Tony doesn’t allow the sedation, instead, he gets Harley to kick off his shoes, and get comfy in the bed with him, and Harley sleeps, head pillowed on his chest, where the arc reactor used to be until Steve Rogers – Captain America – a man Tony had looked up to – a man his father had helped create, from nothing – cracked it open and left him for dead.

It’s when Harley wakes up, barely two hours later, jolted out of a nightmare where they didn’t find him in time, and he’s clutching Tony’s gown tightly, that he realizes just how close they came to losing Tony, and he loses his absolute shit, again, for the second time in less than three hours, and this time, it’s Tony who calls in Cho, it’s Tony who holds Harley while the drugs kick in and Harley’s grip relaxes, and he stops hyperventilating. It’s Tony who runs a hand through Harley’s curls, cradles the back of his head, holds him while he rests, refuses to let them move his kid.

He wakes up again, ten hours later, still resting against Tony, but the older man is asleep, head tilted back against his pillow. Harley’s careful as he pulls away, as he sits up and sets Tony’s arms, which had been wound around Harley, back onto the bed. Harley’s quiet, as he leaves the room, telling Friday to let him know when Tony wakes, heading back to the lab.

Harley stays in the lab for the night, creating a better casing for the arc reactor. He’s not stupid, he’s not naïve – he knows that regardless of how many times Tony says he’s done, he’s retired, he’s giving up the suits, he’ll always need them. There will always be a suit, and if there’s a suit, there’s someone inside – whether it’s Tony, or Rhodes, or Pepper, or, hell, even Harley - _he realizes with a shock that he’s the Stark heir, ever since he was legally adopted_ – there will always be someone in the suit, and there’s a flaw that can be exploited, and Harley needs to fix it, needs to save his family.

Two weeks later, Harley’s held together with old painter’s tape, and chewed pieces of gum, and far too many cups of coffee to be considered healthy, and Peter comes to the Compound, accompanied by his aunt, who greets Tony with a hug and then a smack, hard, across the face. Harley watches via Friday’s cameras as Pepper introduces herself, and the two women stride off together, and Peter sits by Tony’s bed. Harley doesn’t intrude – he wants to know who this kid is, and he has an inkling, having heard his voice, but he doesn’t jump to conclusions, not anymore, and so he waits for Friday to tell him that Tony’s asking for him.

He heads to the Med Bay, stopping in his room to brush his teeth, slap on deodorant, trade his grease-stained t-shirt and pajama pants for a clean henley and jeans. He runs a hand through his hair. He’s not sure what’s come over him, why he’s worried about his damn _appearance_ , of all things, just because there’s another guy talking to Tony, but does it anyway.

“There you are! Harley, my favorite shithead, took you long enough,” Harley leans in the doorframe of Tony’s room, smirks at the older man, still resting in bed, but dressed in real pajamas now, not just a hospital gown. “I’ve got someone for you to meet, kid,”

Tony keeps talking, as he does, running his mouth, but Harley doesn’t hear a goddamn word that comes out of his mouth because the other boy’s head has turned, and they’ve locked eyes, and _fuck me_ , Harley thinks, _it’s like that stupid movie, nothing else is holding me here, nothing at all besides that boy’s eyes, and his smile,_ and Harley takes a step forward into the room, extends a hand. He thinks Tony’s still talking, and the other boy – _Peter? Is that his name, is that what Tony was saying?_ – is blushing at whatever Tony’s rattling on about, and none of it matters, because Harley’s whole world has been reduced down to one blushing, short boy, with biceps bigger than should be allowed considering just how compact he is, and swoopy hair that Harley wants to run his hands through and pull, just to see what kind of reaction he’d get.

“Tony, please,” Harley sweeps his other hand through his hair, pushes his hair out of his face, doesn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes follow the movement, “Shut up, for the first time in your life, damn.”

Tony’s mouth shuts, teeth meeting with an audible _clack_ , and Harley only notices the barely stifled snort that Peter makes because his entire focus is on the way his bottom lip’s caught beneath his teeth. Too late, Harley realizes he’s staring at the other boy’s mouth, quite obviously, and he drags his eyes up, finally meeting the other boy’s chocolate eyes. “I’m Harley,” he says, proud of how steady his voice is in the face of just how rocked his whole world is, “You must be Peter.”

Peter looks down, seems to finally notice the hand Harley’s had extended through the whole encounter, and shakes it. His voice is muted, and soft, and smooth like velvet to Harley when he responds.

“That’s me, Peter Parker, Mr. Stark’s intern,” and the mention of Tony brings Harley back to the moment, and the shock of what Tony’s been saying the whole time Harley’s been distracted hits him all at once –

“You’re the new intern? You’re going to work in the lab with us?” Peter’s still holding his hand, Harley notices, and doesn’t make a move to let go – he’s enjoying the feel of the shorter boy’s grip on his calluses far too much to let go, “This is gonna be so much fun, Tony didn’t tell me you were hot.”

Peter’s eyes widen in shock, his lips part, and he stutters, mouth opening and closing, clearly trying to find a response, but Harley’s too proud of himself for finally getting a fucking grip, so he does something his mama would’ve smacked him across the back of the head for – he bends at the waist, kisses the back of Peter’s hand, whispers into his skin, “Can’t wait to see you around, darlin’,” and then drops his grasp, saunters away, only turning back when gets to the doorway. “I’ll text you, yeah? I bet I can find your number faster than Tony can hide it.”

It’s then that he claps a hand around the doorframe, gives Tony the one-fingered salute, and saunters down the hallway, trying to keep his breathing normal, trying not to let on to the fact that he’s _out of his fucking mind, so goddamn exited, you bet your ass_ that he’s going to drive this boy crazy, the same way Peter’s driving him crazy, just by existing.

A few nights later, Harley’s in the lab, just like every other night since they’d gotten to the Compound, trying to integrate two different versions of the Spider-Man suit into one. (Tony had sent him the files, an email with no subject, or body, just the blueprints of how the suits worked.) One hand is slipped into the sleeve of the first prototype, the other twirling a screwdriver, muttering under his breath to Friday, just loud enough for her to pick up his requests through his earpiece, and he realizes he isn’t alone.

There’s a figure, standing outside the glass door, watching Harley, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, but there’s no point in hiding the suits, not since Peter’s been invited to the Compound. Harley pulls his arm out of the sleeve, tells Friday to turn down the music, and pause his simulation. He stands, stretches his arms over his head – watches Peter’s eyes, easily visible, even in the dark hallway, track their way down his chest – and moves to the door, kicking stools, and other projects out of the way, making a clear pathway.

“Care to come in?” Harley’s voice cuts through the quiet, only otherwise marred by his nighttime playlist, and Peter nods, so Harley pushes the door open some more, and Peter slips inside. For one very short, very intense second, they’re closer together than ever before, chest to chest, before Peter moves further into the lab, easily picking his way around Harley’s crap, scattered around the floor and desks.

“Mr. Stark said I could find you down here,” Peter’s tone is the twin to Harley’s, soft, barely audible over the music. “He said he can’t be down here yet, he’s isn’t cleared yet, but that he expects his lab to be spotless when he’s better.”

Harley scoffs, slips one hand into the back pocket of his jeans, resting the other on the clean edge of a table. “He’s just as much of a mess as I am, honestly. It’s a miracle we’ve managed to find anything in the time we’ve been working together.” He watches as Peter wraps his arms around himself, hands covered by his sweatshirt sleeves – god, the little sweater paws, Harley wants to wrap this guy in a blanket and hold him tight, all night – “Friday, turn up the heat in here, will ya? Don’t want our spider friend to get cold, now.”

Getting to watch the shock spread across Peter’s face is one of the top five joys of Harley’s young life.

“How – wait – how did you, did Mr. Stark tell you? I mean, not that I’m, like, actually, um,” Harley takes it back – watching Peter stutter through a poor denial of his being Spider-man is now Harley’s number two moment, ever.

(Number one, obviously, is finding an Iron Man suit in his garage. Tony’s changed his life in all sorts of ways, after all, up to and including, apparently, introducing Harley to the love of his life.)

“It wasn’t Tony, darlin’, it wasn’t hard to figure out, either. I helped him make that suit you wore to fight against Team Shitcan over in Germany, only while I was makin’ it he didn’t tell me there was already someone in mind. I figured he was just trying to figure out a different type of tin can man suit, right? Clearly, I was wrong, since he’s gone and stuck a spider where I had an arc reactor, and, y’know, since you’ve been wearing it, and you’re not Iron Man. No offense.” Harley works his way around the table while he talks, notices that his southern is slipping into his speech in a way it hasn’t since he moved to New York. He sits in front of Peter, back in his chair.

(It’s actually Tony’s chair, it’s got sixteen different ergonomic positions so he doesn’t fuck up his back, and Harley fucking loves it, has already ordered himself two, one for his lab in the Tower and one for his desk in bedroom).

_(He doesn’t mention that if he shuts his eyes tight enough, he can almost feel Tony in the lab with him, not recovering in the Med Bay upstairs. Again – used painter’s tape and chewed gum, barely holding himself together. You win some, you lose some, and if sitting in Tony’s chair keeps the panic down for longer than a minute, than damn, you bet your ass Harley is going to sit in this fucking chair as much as he goddamn wants.)_

“So you’re the one who made my suit?” Peter stares at him, arms still wrapped around himself. Harley observes him silently, waiting for him to say anything else.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, me and Tony made it together, but it was my baby. He told me a bunch of stuff that he wanted the suit to do – filter light, and sound, make those functions adjustable in terms of allowed stimuli. He wanted it fireproof, which it is. It can also be integrated into any Iron Man suit in the case of emergency, that was my addition, since I figured the suit would be like a backup, wear underneath just in case type thing.” Peter’s quiet now, staring at Harley. Harley stares back, lets himself drag his eyes all over the boy’s face – his eyes, eyebrows, cheeks and lips. Peter’s arms are still tight on his on torso. “Friday, turn up the heat some more, since Spider-baby is still cold, yeah?”

They stare at each other in silence for a while, an unreadable expression on Peter’s face, Harley trying to keep his emotions wiped off his. The heat kicks on, and Peter unwinds his arms from himself, rests his hands on the lab table behind him.

Harley doesn’t miss the small movements the other boy makes – the way Peter keeps dragging his bottom lip into his mouth, then letting it slip back out, all red and swollen, the way his fingers tap out some kind of rhythm on the table behind him, the way he’s almost jittering.

“Okay, cool, good talk. I’m gonna get back to work now, so I can get this done before Tony comes down and starts putting his smelly hands all over it, so if you don’t need anything else,” Harley breaks the silence – he doesn’t want Peter to leave, but he really doesn’t want to sit in front of him all night, he really doesn’t want to give the other boy a chance to see past the horribly constructed wall that’s barely holding back the full force of Harley’s emotions. He really does want to finish up the integration. “Peter?”

Peter steps forward, into Harley’s space. He’s still biting his lip, worrying it between his teeth, and fuck, Harley _wants_ , with every fiber of his being. He wants to wrap Peter in his arms, wants to show him every bit of himself, everything he’s been shoving down for as long as he can remember. Peter takes another step forward, and his body is slotted between Harley’s thighs, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. Harley’s hands come up, of their own accord, to grasp Peter’s hips – he can feel the boy’s sharp hipbones against his thumbs, if he rubs over them, Peter’s eyes slide shut, his breathing speeds up – and Harley can’t help himself, he surges up, tugs Peter even tighter against him, and presses their lips together.

It’s electric – the way he can feel Peter hum in surprise, the way Peter’s hands come up, winding into Harley’s hair. Harley nips Peter’s bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it in and letting go with an audible _pop_ , and it’s like a damn breaks.

“Harley, god,” He’s barely able to catch his breath before Peter’s straddling his lap, arms wound tight around his neck, faces pressed together. They’re kissing, if that’s what you want to call it – Peter’s licking into Harley’s mouth without abandon, and Harley’s trying to keep up, trying to work his arms under Peter’s thighs so he can pick him up, turn them around, set the smaller boy on the desk. Peter’s thighs bracket Harley’s hips, his hands cradle his cheeks, run down his chest, and Harley can barely breathe from the way it feels.

“Peter, I,” Harley tilts his head back, breaking their lips apart, and it doesn’t stop Peter, instead, the other boy starts kissing his way down the column of Harley’s neck, “Peter, we need to talk about this, we can’t just,” He’s cut off by Peter yanking his head back down to seal their lips in a fervent kiss, bodies so tightly pressed together Harley can feel every inch of the other boy, from his chest pressed tight, heaving with the effort of breathing, to the line of his cock, pressed against Harley’s, and it’s all too much. “Peter, stop,”

He jerks back, the words having the intended effect – Peter pulls back, jerks his hands away from where they’d been running up and down Harley’s chest. Harley rests his hands on Peter’s thighs, pulls them apart gently, takes a step back. They breathe heavily, together, the warm exhale of Peter’s heaves hitting Harley’s face, and it takes every single bit of his self-control to not grab the younger boy and have his way with him.

“Did… did you not want that?” Peter’s wrapped his arms around his belly, one hand tapping out a rhythm Harley can’t catch in the crook of his elbow.

“No, sweetheart, I wanted that,” Harley takes the chance, gives in to his more primal urge to step forward and rub his hands down Peter’s shoulders, “God, darlin’, I wanted that so badly. I still want to do that some more, I just. I figured we should probably talk about this, y’know, before just, falling into bed together.”

Peter’s lips part, a sigh falling out of his mouth, hands stilling their fidgeting, legs stopping where they’d been swinging nervously. “Oh. Okay, cool. Um, I’d love to, uh, do that again, right, the whole, uh, kissing thing, after we chat, if that’s okay?” His hand comes up, runs through his hair, swoops it to the side, and Harley leans forward, pulling him into his arms. Peter rests against his chest, head fitting perfectly into the crook of Harley’s neck, hands fisted in the sides of his shirt. Harley runs his hands up and down Peter’s back, rests his head on top of Peter’s.

“Oh, honey, you’re gonna be the end of me,” Harley whispers, words barely audible, “I just know already.” A chuckle slips out as he pulls away, drops a kiss on top of Peter’s forehead.

He steps away, further. Peter slips off the desk, attempts to adjust himself in his jeans. Harley follows the movement of the other boy, watches as he blushes when he notices Harley’s gaze on him. He feels a simmer of pleasure, of contentedness, deep in his belly when Peter ducks his head, chin on his chest, and steps back into Harley’s space. “So, uh, what do you want to talk about, then?”

Peter’s words are whispered into Harley’s collarbone, face pressed against his shoulder. He’s somehow managed to slide his arms tight around Harley without him noticing.

“Darlin’, I wasn’t joking about having to finish this up before Tony’s better, so I should probably do that, and then we can talk tomorrow, if that’s alright?” He tries to soften his words with kisses planted on the crown of Peter’s head. Harley’s fighting the outright urge to aske Peter to leave – it’s starting to become too much in a sensory overload type way – he’s barely holding himself up on his own two feet, and this sunshine boy wants more, wants more kissing, and more touching, and fuck, Harley isn’t used to it.

Harley isn’t used to the clinginess that he’s starting to suscept Peter brings to his everyday life – the way Peter touches as if Harley’s something precious, something to be valued, something to be cherished. It’s too much for Harley to process, so soon after Germany, and Siberia, and he needs his safe space back. He hasn’t set up his bedroom yet here in the Compound, just dropped his bag and stops in when he needs a clean shirt, has been sleeping in the lab on the futon and showering in Tony’s hospital room every few days when he visits. He’s running on empty, trying to fulfill both his and Tony’s roles so that Tony doesn’t have to worry about it.

(He’s also trying to prove to himself that he can do it – that he can fill Tony’s role. All that the last few weeks have taught him is that no one can fill Tony’s role, least of all a kid from the butt fuck of Tennessee, but he’s damn well going to try, and he’s going to keep Tony from taking on too much when he is ready to come back.)

Regardless: the lab is his, and there’s still someone else in it, someone that Harley _really_ doesn’t know all that well, and even though he wants to kiss Peter senseless and get him naked and find out what kind of noises he’d make if Harley could get his hands all over him, he’s also so fucking close to breaking. It’s that fact, that he can physically feel the wall holding his emotions back crumbling the longer Peter holds onto him, that he lets go, moves out of the embrace as quickly as he can.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? You can come down here, and we can work on the suit, make it a bit better?” Harley’s phrasing it like a question – he’s hoping his tone is making it clear that this is not a suggestion, he does not want Peter to stick around tonight.

It doesn’t come through. Peter allows him to escape from the embrace, but is shifty, moving his weight from foot to foot, wiggling his hips back and forth to a rhythm that’s only in his own head. One hand comes up to clutch at the bicep of his other arm, and his eyebrows furrow, eyes flitting around the room.

“Mr. Stark told me not to leave you in here tonight,” The words escape with what seems to be a sigh of relief from the shorter boy, “He said you’d been in here for far too long by yourself and you needed a break. I’m supposed to convince you to go to sleep.”

They’re standing in silence, again, and Harley can’t help but notice the stark contrast of this silence compared to the silence before they’d kissed.

“Tony,” Harley draws in a deep breath, “doesn’t control me, Peter.” He walks to the door of the lab, opens it and holds it. “If he wants to me to do something, he can tell me himself, okay?” He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Please, just go, get some sleep, darlin’. I’ll be fine, just gonna finish up some work and then head out.”

Peter’s shaking his head, long before Harley’s done with his little speech. He biting his bottom lip again, Harley can’t help but notice, and it’s the way Peter’s tapping his fingers on his own arm, and the way the smaller boy looks exhausted – Harley gives in.

Well, he reaches out an olive branch.

“Okay, so you’re not going to leave without me leaving, too, right?” He waits for Peter to nod his head. “So just go sit on the couch, or tinker, or do whatever. I’ll let you know when I’m done, and then we can head out, and you’ll have done as Tony said, and I’ll have gotten shit done.” Harley doesn’t wait for Peter to answer, just lets the door to the lab shut, stalks back to his desk. He reaches out for the mug that’s been sitting on the corner of his desk for who knows how long, chugs half of it the second it reaches his lips.

The shot of caffeine in his system is enough for him to tamp down the swirl of emotions, push down the rising panic and anxiety and worry in his chest. The presence of Peter, sitting on the arm of the couch, watching Harley, is almost calming, though he’s never going to admit it. Instead, he waves a hand to bring up Friday’s interface, restarts the simulation, slips his hand back into the sleeve of the first suit he’d been working on. He ignores the uncomfortable throb of his still-hard cock in his jeans, ignores the beautiful sunshine boy watching him with curious eyes from the couch, ignores everything, except his project.

The night passes, the only measure of time actually passing in the windowless lab Peter’s movements. Every so often, Harley looks up, and Peter’s moved slightly – he’d started perched on the arm of the couch, then slid down until his back was resting against it, and has continued sliding down until his back is flat on the body of the couch. Harley’s made good progress – once he’d gotten in the zone, and turned the music up enough to cover the rustling Peter made as he moved – he’s completely integrated the suits together, and added in a few additional features for good measure.

It’s around four in the morning when Harley thinks he’s done for the night. He’s been working for six straight hours, he’s exhausted, his back hurts, regardless of the fancy, far-too-expensive chair, and all he wants is to lay out on his futon and fall asleep. He slides the suits into a drawer of his desk, tells Friday to shut it down, and rolls his chair out from under the desk. He stands up, starts to stumble over to the futon, ready to collapse over the back of it, same as he has every other night – oh. He stops, catches himself on the back of the couch.

Peter’s dead asleep, laying on his side, head pillowed on Harley’s pillow, covered haphazardly with Harley’s blanket. Peter’s clutching the edge of the blanket near his chest. It’s Harley’s blanket. He brought it from the Tower. He’s slept with it every night for as long as he can remember.

Harley can’t bring himself to wake him, or to move him – Peter is peaceful, in a way that Harley doubts he ever was, or ever will be. Peter’s eyelids, colored like the sunset over a lake, rested on his cheekbones, eyelashes fluttering with every breath. His feet twitched, every few seconds, as if Peter’s running from something in his sleep. He mumbles – just a few words, and just quiet enough that Harley can’t make out what he’s saying.

Harley’s at a loss, faced with what he’s been referring to as his sunshine boy, laid out on the futon, completely comfortable in Harley’s space. He’s at a loss to describe the joy curling in his chest, a joy he hasn’t felt since Cap first threw the shield at the man he considered his father. He’s forgotten what happiness truly felt like, he’d been too absorbed in what could’ve been lost, in how everything could’ve gone wrong. Harley realizes he wants to go back in time, to having Peter settled on his lap, lips pressed together, hands roaming each other’s bodies.

He stares down at Peter, watches him sleep for what is probably far too long to be considered socially acceptable, before deciding to give in. Harley walks around the side of the futon, pulls off his shoes, realizes that Peter’s still wearing his, unties them and tugs them off gently. He’s rewarded with a snuffle from Peter. In one smooth motion, Harley slips his arms under Peter’s body, picks him up, and turns them around, lays them down so Harley’s on his back, flat on the couch, and Peter is cradled against his chest.

Peter makes another snuffle in his sleep, his hands grip onto Harley’s shirt, then relax, as he accepts the new position. He’s back to his former peaceful state in seconds. Harley’s content to feast his eyes on Peter for as long as he can keep them open – which, honestly, isn’t that long at all, before even his eyes slide shut, his head falling back onto the pillow. His hands are still wrapped tight around Peter, their legs intertwined.

It’s the best sleep that Harley’s had since before Germany, before he watched his dad fight his own team, and he doesn’t want to let go of his sunshine boy.

Too few hours later, Peter startles himself awake, his metabolism demanding to be fed. The grumbling of his stomach is enough to wake Harley – they’re still lying chest to chest, Peter’s head resting over Harley’s heart.

“Good mornin’, darlin’,” Harley whispers, unwilling to break the quiet of the moment. Peter looks up at him through his eyelashes, chin resting on his hands, folded onto the older boy’s chest. “Didn’t expect you to wake up so soon,” Peter can feel the chuckle in Harley’s chest, so he lets his face flop down, hiding his red cheeks against Harley’s body.

“It’s just my metabolism – I have to feed the beast, or I can’t heal, or function, or anything, really.” His words are muffled, face still hidden in Harley’s shirt. He feels Harley’s hand come up, rest on his head, start to comb through his curls. It’s soothing – but not to his stomach, which grumbles again.

“Alright, alright, go find somethin’ to eat, y’hear?” They sit up, Peter pulling away from Harley’s warmth. Harley rubs his eyes, stretches his arms over the back of the futon. His southern is coming out in a way it hasn’t since before Tony and Pepper took him in, he realizes, again – must be his sunshine boy. “Go on, now, I’m sure they’re wondering where you’re at, Pete,”

Peter’s head whips around, eyes locking with Harley’s at the nickname. He’s gotten up from the futon, has also stretched – and _damn_ , that’s a distraction if Harley’s ever seen one. Peter’s t-shirt rides up, and his jeans have ridden down during the night, and the vee of his hips is on display.

Harley has to look away, take a deep breathe. (If he reaches down, tries to nonchalantly adjust himself, well, that’s his business.)

“Aren’t you gonna come to breakfast?” Peter’s voice, small and quiet, draws Harley’s attention back to the boy himself. He’s no longer stretching, instead, his arms are wrapped around himself again. Harley knows that he’s like a heater, personally, especially when he sleeps – is Peter cold? Again? The heat is still on, the lab is exactly how Harley left it – but now, Peter’s not leaning against Harley. They’re not sharing body heat anymore. _Interesting_ , Harley thinks, filing away the knowledge for later.

Too late, he realizes he’s been staring at Peter, eyes furrowed while he works through the body heat issue. “Oh, no, I normally don’t eat until Tony’s up, which won’t be until later, if not until lunch. I’ve got some stuff to finish up, I made a good dent last night, but, uh, I ended up just crashing with you on the couch,” He gives Peter a lopsided smile, stands up and grabs his earpiece from the table where he’d dropped it last night after realizing he still had it in.

“But, Harley,” Harley’s awareness of Peter was fading, quickly, as he shook off the remnants of sleep, finishes chugging the rest of a mug of old coffee, moving quickly to his desk and bringing up one of the projects Tony had tossed his way prior to leaving for Germany. It’s some kind of biomedical nanotech, meant to be held in a wristwatch, and Harley had been debating tossing it towards a few of the biomedical R&D interns a few floors down at the Tower.

“Friday, give me the latest specs on that watch, will ya? Also, restart that sim from last night, I need to see how the tensile strength is affected by the addition of the veins running through the fabric. Also, how was Tony’s night? Did he have any events?” Harley mumbles to the ever-present AI as he waves his hands to bring up a few interfaces so he can run multiple projects – and stops.

Peter’s standing in his space, blocking Harley’s view of two of Friday’s screens.

“No, Harley, no more working, not right now.” Peter’s brows are furrowed, and if Harley wasn’t so far into the zone already, he’d be struck by just how fucking cute he looked – like a little puppy. “You need a break, you just woke up, just come eat breakfast, and take a shower, and hang out with me,”

Harley steps around Peter, already giving instructions to Friday on sending a notification to Tony regarding the nanotech production rates for when he’s ready to come back, asks her to turn up the playlist, and ask Pepper if there was a timeline regarding their return to the Tower, when it all shuts down on him, and he whirls back around to where he’d left Peter – but the smaller boy isn’t there anymore. Harley’s alone in the lab.

“Friday? Bring it back up, Fri, please, I wasn’t done yet,” Harley waves his hands, tries to bring his screens back up – and nothing’s working. He slams his hands onto his desk in frustration, bites down on his lip, lets out an angry almost-scream.

“I’m sorry, Harley, but I am operating under Baby Monitor Protocol, and cannot resume functions in the lab until the protocol is disabled.” The AI sounds regretful, and Harley curses under his breath, rips his earpiece out and slams it onto the charging dock.

“Is it by Tony’s order or Pepper’s, Fri?” Harley’s weight is completely supported by his arms, tension fluttering through his muscles where his arms are braced on his desk. “Dammit, Friday, who initiated the goddamn protocol? I can’t get around it unless I know who initiated it!” His arms give out, and he slumps down, forehead resting on the desk, arms crossed and holding onto the back of his head. “Please, Fri, just, let me keep working.”

There’s no response – and Harley breaks. He slides off the desk, curls up on the floor underneath it. He’s crying silently into the concrete floor, and he feels so alone, in the lab that he’s supposed to share with Tony, who’s upstairs in a hospital bed because he almost died, and it’s too much.

“Okay, buddy, okay,” Arms wrap around Harley, tug him into a sitting position. “Ah, kid, c’mon now, I’m here, okay? It’s just me and you, Harls,” and Tony’s voice sets Harley off again, his third breakdown in twelve hours. He’s leaning into Tony’s chest, clutching the older man’s shirt so tightly he knows with certainty it’s going to be wrinkled, and he’s sobbing, outright sobbing from deep inside his chest, face pressed tight against Tony’s neck.

“I didn’t know what I was going to do, Tony,” The words are punctuated by sobs, hiccupped against Tony’s skin where Harley’s resting, trying to match his breathing to Tony’s. “I didn’t know what I was gonna do if you were gone,” The thought of losing him, forever, brings up a fresh wave of panic, and fear, and Harley’s too busy sobbing in Tony’s grasp to notice the presence of Peter, holding a syringe. Harley doesn’t notice Tony motion Peter over with a flick of his head, doesn’t process that he’s been sedated, again, until his breathing slows, and the sobbing stops, and for a few seconds, before sleep takes over, Harley’s able to lean back in Tony’s grasp, look into his face.

“It’s okay, bud, I swear, we’re gonna be okay, Harley. I’m here, I’m here for you, and Pepper’s on her way from the Tower, right now, okay, just sleep for a little bit,” Harley drifts away, lets his eyes slide closed.

He’s knocked out, completely blackout in Tony’s arms, and Tony realizes that he can’t stand up, so he just sits for a minute, holding his son, taking comfort in the little huffs he lets out against his neck.

“Peter, kid, can you help me out here? I know you’ve got that super strength, and I’m not technically supposed to be out of bed.” Peter leans in, gets a grasp on Harley, slips his arms under the older boy’s legs and around his back. He lifts up, cradling Harley against his chest. Tony loops the sleeping boy’s arms around Peter’s neck and looks around the lab. He swipes Harley’s blanket off the futon, slings it over his shoulder, and jerks his head so Peter’ll follow him out. As they leave, Tony holding the door for Peter to maneuver Harley through without bumping him, Tony hits the light switch, activates the biolock. He doesn’t want Harley back in here until he’s ready – and Tony won’t be ready for Harley to work by himself for a while, he thinks, watching Peter carefully walk down the hallway, eyes locked on Harley’s sleeping face.

Peter and Tony get Harley tucked into a bed next to Tony’s in the Med Bay, just in time for Cho to come around the corner. She doesn’t startle, just glares at Tony until he gets back in his bed, allows Peter to tuck the blankets around him.

“I see I’ve gained a patient,” Her tone is full of amusement, and exhaustion – Tony’s undeniably thankful for her, realizes he doesn’t tell her enough, but there are no words.

“Yeah, I had to get Peter to drag him out of the lab. I may have given him some of the sedation from the other day, again,” Tony’s words trail off as one of Cho’s eyebrows quirks up, then back down, settling back into an emotionless mask.

“Is it alright if I go ahead and start an IV on him, Mr. Stark? Based off Friday’s report, he hasn’t eaten for several days,” Cho’s question surprises Tony, and he’s stock still, trying to process what she’d said.

“Mr. Stark, Dr. Cho wants to give Harley fluids,” Peter’s voice cuts through the guilt swirling in Tony’s head, “Is that okay with you, or do we need to call Ms. Potts?” Tony reaches out a hand, catches Peter’s hand in his, uses it to anchor himself to the present.

“Yeah, of course, go ahead, give him whatever he needs.” The shock must still be evident on his face – Peter’s looking at him, concern in his eyes. At Tony’s okay, Cho nods, reaching over to slide the curtain shut. “Don’t worry, Peter, I’m fine. I just didn’t realize that when Harley wasn’t here, it’s because he was in the lab. I didn’t realize that there wasn’t an in between at the moment,” Peter nods his head, opens and shuts his mouth a few times.

The curtain slides back open, and Harley comes back into view. His hair is all messed up, curls sticking up haywire, and they’ve taken off his henley, leaving him bare-chested in the bed. Peter’s eyes trail down the other boy’s body before he can catch himself.

“Hey, Friday, where did Harley leave his backpack?” Tony’s voice cuts through Peter’s lust-driven thoughts.

“I do believe that Harley’s bag is located in his room, boss,” Friday’s voice comes from the ceiling above Tony.

“Peter, kid, can you run over there and grab him some clothes? I have no idea how long he’s been wearing those clothes, and jeans aren’t the most comfortable thing anyway. Friday can give you directions.” Peter nods, slowly, trying to tamp down his excitement at seeing Harley’s space.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Stark, I can do that! Back in a jiffy!” He’s up and out of his seat, out the door in seconds. Peter misses the chortle that Tony makes as he leaves.

“Hey, Cho, you have a second?” Cho looks up from her tablet, scrolling through what Tony would bet is his own lab results.

“Yes, sir, is there something wrong?” She comes closer, stands next to his bed.

“Not necessarily,” Tony’s voice falters in his chest as he glances over, sees Harley’s slack face, resting in the bed that Tony drugged him to get him into. “When was the last time Harley had a physical?”

His question doesn’t shock the doctor, instead, she sighs, taps around on her tablet some more. “I’m only seeing his initial physical from when he first came to the Tower, Mr. Stark, more than two years ago. It’s fairly comprehensive – there’s a full body MRI, and neurotransmitters levels along with a comprehensive metabolic panel. Is there something in particular you’d like me to run for comparison?”

“Yeah, go ahead and run labs on him – just grab whatever you can get from blood work, please. If nothing else, we can get a baseline,” Tony lets out a sigh, fists his hands in the blanket covering his lap.

“Mr. Stark, if I may,” Cho hasn’t moved, instead, she’s stopped looking at her screen and is locking eyes with Tony. “His labs, right now, are most likely going to be abnormal. He’s suffered a tremendous shock to the system, and is under a great deal of emotional and mental stress. I’d still like to run labs, but I’d also like to refer him for therapy. I think he’d be a good candidate for cognitive behavioral therapy, and it should help him with coping with major stressors that occur in his life.”

Tony’s nodding before she finishes talking, releases the blanket. “Yes, please, whatever you think he needs. It’s a good idea, kid’s got some trauma and stuff he just doesn’t talk about, and I’m not the best role model for dealing with feelings. Yeah, alright, go ahead, I’ll tell Pep we need to scout some options for him,” He’s already brought up Friday’s interface, typing out a message to Pepper – and a hand slides through the holoscreen, shuts it down.

“Mr. Stark, you are still recovering. I can handle discussing the matter with Ms. Potts, I am certain she will come in later and we can discuss it and bring it up to Harley. Until then, I need you to take a break, and relax. Your child is in that bed, and he is going to need you, so you need to be as well as you can be to help him.”

Cho’s words sink into Tony’s brain, swirl around his thoughts long after she’s left. Already, he’s reevaluating every interaction he’s had with Harley since Siberia – and when he compares the few instances to the appearance and general state of the boy before Siberia – there’s a stark (ha, ha) difference.

Outside the door, in the hallway, Peter slides down the wall, clutching a soft long-sleeve, pajama pants, boxers, and socks. He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation, but his enhanced hearing made it hard to not hear, and now he knows more about Harley than the boy is probably okay with.

“Peter, honey, why are you sitting in the hallway? What do you have, sweetie?” His aunt’s voice makes him jump up, bouncing up and down in place.

“Hey, Aunt May, hey, Ms. Potts, I was just bringing Harley some clean clothes,” He realizes, too late, that he’s been sitting in the hallway for who knows how long, and Mr. Stark can probably hear him, and will most definitely know that Peter knows what the conversation was about.

“Peter, kid, you back yet?” Tony’s voice drifts into the hallway, and Peter stops his bouncing in place and bounces into the room. Tony’s in the same position he was when Peter left, but there are new wrinkles in the blanket where his hands would rest if they weren’t twined behind his head. “Light of my life, my honey pie, you’ve returned!” Peter bounds in fully, hands the clothes over to a nurse who’s standing by Harley’s bed. She draws the curtain, and Peter’s eyes widen as he hears the soft rustling of the older boy’s clothes being removed and replaced, and he gulps as he remembers sitting on the desk, Harley tight between his thighs, bodies pressed together.

May and Pepper coming into the room shock Peter out of his thoughts, especially when they steal his seat and the only other chair in the room.

“Yes, Tony, I’m back, I flew in this morning from the Tower. I did receive a weird half-message from Harley earlier – but he didn’t respond to my message back. Any clue about that?” Pepper’s got a small smile on her face, almost as if she already knows the answer, but wants to make Tony admit it. May’s sitting beside her, face bright with glee as she waits for Tony to admit not adhering to bedrest.

“Yeah, about Harley – I think we need to talk about him, I had to go down to the lab this morning, Underoos came and got me, saying Harley was still working, so I had Friday shut it down, disable his station, and we sort of, well, drugged him.” Peter drops his head into his hands, mirroring Tony, who’s only moving to glance up at Pepper from between his fingertips. “Sorry I drugged our kid, honey,”

Pepper makes a noise that’s a cross between a sigh and laughter, crosses ones leg over the other, leans back in her chair. “Well, hun, I already knew most of that, as Friday had informed me while I was on my flight that you had left your bed. I didn’t realize the drugging was planned, I thought it was an emergency only necessity.”

At her words, Tony shrugs, lifts his head from his hands. “I wasn’t intending to drug him; he was a mess when I got down there. Besides, Peter carried him back up, so I didn’t overexert myself.”

May is chuckling, leaning back in what used to be Peter’s chair at the bedside. “Yeah, I’m sure walking down three different hallways wasn’t overexerting yourself when you’re barely two weeks out from open heart surgery, Antonio,”

Tony’s cheeks color red, and he ducks his head into his chest, puffs out a little huff of angry air.

“Pe’er?” Harley’s voice comes from behind the curtain, starting soft, and getting louder with each repetition. “Pe’er? Pete? What, where did ya go, sunshine?” He’s floundering around in his bed, Peter sees as the nurse pulls back the curtain, reveals Harley, now dressed in the clothes Peter’d picked, waving his arms around, eyes screwed shut.

“Can you come hold him down, please, so he doesn’t pull his IV out? I’d rather not stick him again,” The nurse requests, brows furrowed, clearly looking at Peter.

He freezes in place, stuck watching Harley, still losing it in the hospital bed, the nurse trying to hold down his arms.

“Peter, bud, you okay?” May’s voice shocks him into action, and he takes the nurse’s place, rests his hands on Harley’s shoulders and gently pushes. The older boy’s arms come up, start to push, but them grasp in his shirt, working under his sleeves until Harley’s hands on his skin. It calms the other boy, and he relaxes, stops kicking his legs.

“Thank you, Peter,” The nurse huffs, throws her head back and scrapes the frizzy hair out of her face where it’d fallen when she’s leaned over to hold Harley down. “Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, do you need anything else? I’ve pulled some labs from Harley; I’m going to get it started analyzing as soon as possible.”

Tony shakes his hand, an unidentifiable expression on his face while he watches Peter holding Harley down, the taller boy having moved onto running his hands up and down Peter’s sides.

“No, thank you, we’re all good here,” Pepper speaks, looks up from her phone. She tracks Tony’s eyeline, sees it land on the two boys. Harley’s still clutching at Peter. She glances over, sees that May is also staring at the two boys. “Peter, honey, why don’t you get comfortable?” Pepper stands, makes her way around Tony’s bed to where Harley’s supposed to be resting. “Here, I’ll take his attention for a second so you can slide in next to him,”

With capable, soft hands, she pulls Harley’s hands off Peter, holds them tight in hers.

“Pep? Pepper, you’re back? Hi, I missed you,” Harley’s mumbling under his breath, eyes opening and closing without seeing what’s in front of him, “Petey? Pep, where did he go, did he leave? I want him back, please,” Harley’s brow furrows, his lips purse, and the face he makes is so similar to the baby pictures she’s seen of the boy she can’t help but laugh.

“Harley, honey, he’s right here, he’s just going to lay with you, okay?” Pepper’s treated to a rare, genuine smile spreading over Harley’s face, the relaxation spreading from his eyebrows all the way down to his jaw.

“Okie dokie, Pep, that’s good,” Harley’s starting to fall back asleep, so she lets go of one of his hands, pulls his body towards her so Peter can slide into the bed next to him. The younger boy has kicked his shoes off, she notices, and slides up the bed so Harley’s head can rest on his chest.

Once Peter nods at her, Pepper release her grasp on Harley, lets Peter adjust his body until their legs are intertwined, Harley’s head on Peter’s chest, arms tight around his stomach.

Pepper turns, satisfied with their current positioning, meets Tony’s eyes. He’s still staring at the boys, watching Peter stroke Harley’s hair, Harley’s hands clutching and loosening in the smaller boy’s shirt.

“They’re good together,” May says, pulling both Tony’s and Pepper’s attention to her. She’s lounging in her chair, phone in one hand. “What do you say to a jailbreak, Pepper?” There’s a mischievous look on her face, and Tony realizes it’s familiar – he’s seen it on Peter’s face.

“Well, May, what did you have in mind?” Pepper’s tone, feisty but loving, sparks in Tony’s chest, reminds him of just how much he loves her.

“Let’s leave the boys for a bit, yeah? We can go for a walk, and take the invalid for some fresh air,” Tony’s nodding before May even finishes her sentence.

“Yes, please, outside would be nice, don’t leave me in here with them,”

Pepper laughs, a small quiet noise, and Tony knows that noise – he knows it comes from deep in her stomach, has felt it bubble out of her chest when they’re naked and together – and he wants her, wants her for the rest of his life, he realizes. Pepper Potts is his forever, and he needs to do something about that, before he does something to mess that up.

The three adults leave, May skirting around the bed to drop a kiss to her nephew’s forehead. Peter’s barely awake, focused on the feeling of Harley resting on top of him, the other boy’s warmth seeping into his bones.

Peter’s stuck in one position, and he’s always moving, he’s _horrible_ at staying still, but the heavy weight of Harley on top of him, the other boy’s warmth, is addicting – he wants to keep Harley near him, if not touching him, forever, and it’s scary, because they just met the other day.

Peter met Harley a few days ago – and already, the taller boy, who’s sighing little mumbles of what can only be Peter’s name into the shorter boy’s chest, has worked his way into his heart, is commandeering Peter’s higher brain function, and Peter can’t bring himself to care, because Harley called him _sunshine boy_ , and only relaxed when Peter was touching him, and _hot diggity dog_ , all Peter wants is to put another smile on Harley’s face and keep him safe.

“Can hear you thinking, Pe’er,” Harley mumbles, breaking through the ocean of fog rolling through his brain, “Shouldn’t be thinking, should only be snuggling, cause when I’m not drugged anymore I’m gonna be pissed as hell that Tony did this,” The threat is mitigated by the soft smile stretching across Harley’s lips, the way he sleepily rubs his cheeks across Peter’s shirt.

“It’s okay, Harley, just go back to sleep, you need some rest,” Peter brings his hand up, starts to stroke Harley’s hair again. “I’ve got you, okay? I’ll wake you up later,” He whispers, fully intending to not wake up Harley if he can help it.

Harley seems to know this, makes a little _humph_ of displeasure into Peter’s chest, but settles back down, falls back into dreamland.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo hoo chapter 2!!
> 
> warning: this chapter alludes to an eating disorder, as well as anxiety, and spiraling thoughts. if you need someone to talk to, my inbox is always open, whether you read the fic or not.

Harley wakes up, eyes opening so suddenly the shock of light hurts, and he’s not sure where he is, tangled in unfamiliar sheets, but his blanket’s on top of him, and he can hear Tony breathing, can feel him stroking his hand, so he doesn’t panic, just tries to tamp down on the anxiety threatening to rise up in his chest, and nearly succeeds. 

“Nope, don’t do that, Harls, don’t shut down, kid,” Tony’s hand, which had been holding onto Harley’s, thumb stroking the back of his hand, tightens, he intertwines their fingers. “Harley, don’t, okay? I know,” Tony pauses, still staring at their hands, “God, kid, I know that you’re not okay, and I need you to tell me, I need you to let someone in, let someone into that big brain of yours.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes while Harley processes. He takes stock of the situation, evaluates the escape routes for this very uncomfortable conversation that he _really_ doesn’t want to have, especially not when Tony’s still recovering – there’s something taped in the crook of his other elbow, _probably an IV_ , he thinks, tries to inspect it without letting it look like he’s inspecting it. He can wiggle his arms, and legs – that’s good, he knows, whatever Tony gave him to knock him out really did just put him into a restful sleep.

He ducks his chin into his chest, shuts his eyes again, under the guise of still thinking – he’s not wearing the clothes he was wearing to meet Peter. He’s not wearing his henley anymore, or, as he wiggles his hips a second, his jeans. He’s in pajamas, and they’re his pajamas, which means someone – Pepper, or, the dread settles in the pit of his stomach, Peter – went into his room. Somebody ruffled through his bag.

He’s struck by the _anger_ , and _betrayal_ , that spark up with the realization – he yanks his hand from Tony’s, scrapes it through his hair to try and settle himself.

“I’m fine, Tony. Why are you out of bed? Aren’t you on bedrest for another few weeks? Does Pepper know you’re up?” Harley’s barely got a lid on himself, and both of them know it – he’s lashing out, trying to deflect onto Tony, but the older man is prepared.

“Pepper knows I’m up, she’s the one who okayed my starting physical therapy, part of which is getting out of bed, walking to this chair, and then getting back to bed. I just happen to be sitting for a while, which isn’t a bad thing. Regardless, you’re not _fine_ , Harley, you are the complete opposite, you haven’t even been sleeping in a real bed!”

Harley’s miscalculated – he’d figured Tony would be the concerned parent, would be scared for him – he didn’t realize that Tony is _absolutely pissed_ at him.

“Are you seriously _mad_? At me? I did what you do when shit goes down! I went to the lab, and I worked!” Harley can’t stop himself from yelling back, can’t keep lying in the bed while Tony gets to sit in the chair and talk at him, so he swings his legs over the side opposite Tony, stands up. “No, Tony! You don’t _get_ to be mad at me! I’m doing my best! I’m trying to hold it together for you, so that everything can go back to normal,”

“God, Harley, please, just sit down, kid,” The anger’s evaporated from Tony’s voice almost as quickly as it’d appeared. “Harley, you’re better than me, that means you don’t take my shitty coping mechanisms and make them yours, too.”

Harley’s backed against a wall, both physically and emotionally – his legs are weaker than he’d realized, and he’s leaning heavily against the wall to keep from falling, and it’s too much, again – he’s almost to sensory overload, hanging on by a thread.

“Please, Harley, I am begging you, sit down.” Tony’s standing in front of Harley, supporting himself with a cane in one hand, leaning heavily on it, but he’s supporting himself. “Harley, kid,” Tony stretches a hand out, waits.

_He’s waiting_ , Harley thinks, _for_ _me_. “Tony,” Harley’s barely able to get the other man’s name out before letting go of the wall with one hand, reaching towards Tony – and falling.

“Nurse! Cho! Get in here, now! Pepper, Peter! Someone!” Tony’s leaning over him, yelling, unable to help him up. Harley can see him, if he looks up from his position slumped on the floor, can see Tony’s legs quivering as he leans on his cane. He hears Tony curse as his eyes slip closed again.

Harley wakes up, for what feels like the tenth time. He’s not comfortable, his arms and legs are tingling in a very uncomfortable way, and his arms are spread out at his sides, shoulders rotated – there are hands holding his. His arms are turned weird so that someone, no, two someones, can hold his hands.

It shouldn’t be as comforting as it is to Harley. The person on his left is running their fingers up and down his palm, so lightly Harley’d think he was imagining it if not for the pain in his shoulder from rotation out and the occasional grasp. His other hand’s held, tightly, steadily. He’s not sure if Tony’s there. He can’t pick out who’s breathing on which side, there’s too much other noise coming from the heart monitor and the IV pump’s quiet whirring.

There’s another IV in his arm, now. He’s got two, now, whereas before he only had one, he can feel the tape crinkled on his skin, knows it’s going to be a bitch to pull off his arm hair later. On the upside, the IVs are probably why he doesn’t have a pounding headache – there has to be some kind of pain medication, or he’d be dealing with a throbbing headache due to caffeine withdrawal on top of everything else. He wishes he knew what else was in the bags. He’ll have to ask Friday, later, when he’s alone.

Harley steels himself, lets his hand twitch against the steady gripped hand on his right, grasps tightly for a split second before letting go.

“Harley?” Tony, then. “You awake this time?”

He doesn’t respond, instead, he squeezes Tony’s hand again. Words feel too big for this moment – if his memory is right, and it generally is, he yelled at Tony. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment, doesn’t want to lose the steady hold of Tony on his hand. Tony pulled him up, out of the dark ocean Harley fell into after the accident, and never let him sink back down.

“I feel like you’re awake, kid,” They exchange squeezes for a second. Whoever has Harley’s other hand hasn’t stopped their movements, is still stroking gently over Harley’s palm. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

It takes a few seconds, but Harley works up the courage to face the older man. When he opens his eyes, it’s dim – the lights must be turned down, or it’s close to dusk, or dawn. It’s hard to tell, especially since he doesn’t know how long he was out the first time. “There you are, Harley.”

There’s relief in Tony’s voice – Harley’s disappointed in himself that he caused the other man worry.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” He whispers, unable to meet the older man’s gaze. He can feel Tony’s gaze, watching him, evaluating every emotion that flickers across his face – one downside to moving in with him, was learning the way the other expressed emotions, or, in Harley’s case, tamped down emotions until they erupted at the slightest inconvenience. Tony knows this, he knows how Harley operates – because Tony’s the same way. They’re two peas in a pod, two sides of the same coin, they share a history that they don’t talk about when, really, the two of them should be in therapy.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, kid. You didn’t do anything wrong, and none of this, none of what has happened, is your fault. I need you to hear me, and hear me well – none of this is your fault.” Tony’s voice cuts through the swirl of degrading thoughts pulling Harley down into the depths of his own head, the statement barely breaking the surface of Harley’s self-imposed hatred.

Harley can’t bring himself to address Tony’s statement. He pulls his hands away, drags his knees in so he can wrap himself into a ball. He still hasn’t looked at Tony – it feels like too much, like Tony will see straight into his soul and read his thoughts the way he reads code. Harley doesn’t want that – he doesn’t want to disappoint him, doesn’t want Tony to know that Harley’s been fluctuating between manic and depressed for weeks, doesn’t want to tell him that he’s so fucking sad all the time.

(He doesn’t want Tony to know that it’s been bad for weeks before Germany, and Siberia – he’s been struggling for weeks, and the only reason Tony hadn’t seen it was because he’d been so busy with the Accords.)

( _Harley doesn’t know he’s wrong – Tony, and Pepper, had noticed – they’d both seen the way his collarbones stuck out of his shirts more than normal, the way he’d been picking at his food, the way he’d been spending more and more time in the lab, or on the roof, and less time sleeping._ )

“Harley, kiddo, can you tell me what you’re thinking about?”

He’s been lost in his head for a minute – Tony’s managed to move from his chair to Harley’s bed, sitting so close Harley can feel his exhales ruffle across his cheek. Words are too much, still, and Tony’s so close – Harley shakes his head, ducks it down so his chin rests on his knees.

“Harley, sweetheart?” Pepper’s there, too – she was the one holding his other hand, Harley notes with a vague disconnect from the world. “Harley, everything is going to be okay. I swear, we are going to figure this out.” She reaches out, rests a hand on his bare ankle where it’s tucked against his body. Her hand is warm – or is he cold?

Tony’s still watching him. Harley’s frozen in place, can’t talk his way out of this. The pit of despair in his stomach is growing, threatening to fill up his chest – will he still have rooms for his lungs to expand? Will it keep going, up into his brain, until he’s just a walking zombie?

Is that so different from how he’s been?

“Oh, god, Tony,” Harley finds his voice, picks his head up. There are tears running down his cheeks – he didn’t know he was crying. He didn’t give permission for this, for his body to betray him this way. “Tony, I think something’s wrong with me,”

Tony reaches forward, lets Harley catalogue the movement he makes before he makes them. He lets Tony wipe away the tears, thumbs resting under his eyes, palms cradling his cheeks.

“It’s okay, buddy,” More tears are falling. Harley’s chest is expanding, and deflating, and it’s taking all of his energy to keep breathing. “C’mere, kid, let it out,” Tony pulls him forward, lets him rest his head in the crook of his neck, wraps his arms around him, rubs one hand across the back of his neck where he gets tense.

Harley keeps crying, huffing every so often, trying to get control, but he can’t. He’s surrounded by Tony, every inhale filled with the smell of clean laundry and motor oil. He’s puffing out little jerky exhales, can’t fill the full volume of his lungs when he tries to inhale. There’s detritus, filling in the space where despair isn’t, and there isn’t enough space for Harley anymore.

Pepper joins the two on the bed, runs a hand up and down Harley’s back. She uses her other to support Tony, who’s looking dangerously fragile, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, screwed shut where he presses his face into the crown of Harley’s head.

“Harley, you have to take a deep breath.” Pepper tries to be gentle – the kid clearly needs affection, and needs Tony, but she can hear the wheeze as he inhales, can see him getting paler the longer he stays slumped over. “Harley, you’re going to pass out, you have to breath for us, sweetheart.”

Her words break into his head, break through the static taking up the space between his ears. He tries to sit up, but can’t find the strength. Pepper helps him, supports him as he pulls away from Tony, tries to lay back onto the pillows. Tony’s crying, too, but he’s not making a wheezing noise, so Pepper leaves him to catch his breath, sitting on the edge. She leans over Harley, brushes his hair out of his face, rests a hand on his jaw.

He’s still making the wheeze when he tries to inhale, still puffing out little huffs when he tries to exhale. His chest is just flailing, in and out, so fast and irregular, and Pepper’s scared.

“Harley, look at me,” She’s hovering over his face, takes his hands, which he’s wrapped around his torso, in an effort to hold himself together. She untangles him, gets his hands flat, places them just underneath her collarbone. “Breathe, with me, sweetie,” She inhales, long and slow and deep, holds it. Waits for him to hold, then exhales, long and slow. “There you go, Harley. Let’s keep doing it.”

Tony’s hand is on her back – he’s matching her rhythm. _What a picture the three of us make_ , she thinks, still holding Harley’s hand securely to her chest, _just a normal afternoon of panic attacks as a family_.

She keeps breathing, measuring her inhales to the clock on the heart monitor, trying to inhale for four, hold for four, and exhale for four. Harley’s able to match most of her breaths – every so often, he’ll hiccup, or cough, but the flail has settled, and the wheeze isn’t as noticeable. Tony’s grasp on her shirt is looser, too – he’s breathing normally, all by himself, just resting his hand on her back to reassure himself, now.

“Okay, Harley, that’s good, you’re doing good.” His eyes aren’t wide with panic anymore, his skin no longer whiter than a ghost – his cheeks are flushed. Tears are still leaking from his eyes, and he’s making little motions with his feet – turning his ankles in circles, maybe, but the motion changes every other second. “I’m going to sit down again, okay?”

She waits for his nod before lifting his hand gently, sets it on the bed, palm down. Pepper gets off the bed, scoots her chair closer to the head of the bed. As if he’s made of glass, she takes his hand again, slipping her fingers in between his thumb and index, so she’s brushing his palm. His other hand is flat on his own chest, rising and falling evenly with each breath.

Harley’s staring at the ceiling, thoughts moving through sludge, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Friday, can you ask Cho if she can come in? I’d like to talk about options,” Harley turns his head, meets Pepper’s gaze – she’s looking at his, steely-eyed. He’s seen that look, knows how she looks when she’s trying to fix something, when Tony’s screwed up, or when he’s screwed up.

“She has responded in the affirmative, Ms. Potts, she will be by in just a moment. Harley’s lab work has been completed and she is looking over the results.” Friday’s voice is reassuring, her steady tone comforting to Harley – they’ve had many conversations, especially since he started working in the lab alone.

“Harley, bud, can you look at me?” He swings his head over, meets Tony’s eyes. Tony’s not sitting on his bed anymore, he’s moved to his chair – when did that happen? Why is Tony looking at him like that? Harley can’t think, he can barely find the energy to move his limbs. “There you are, Harls.”

Tony reaches out, rests a hand on Harley’s cheek, thumbs away a tear that’s slipped out of his eye. “I’ve got you, okay? We’ve got you, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Harley lets his eyes slip closed, pushes his face against the warmth of Tony’s hand, trying to stop floating away – he’s a balloon and his string has been cut but Tony is reaching out, trying to help, and there’s a voice in the back of his head saying to _let him help_.

“Hi, Tony,” Harley whispers, still nuzzling against the older man’s hand.

“Hi, Harley,” He responds. Tony opens his mouth, starts to say something else, but Cho comes in, cuts off his thought before he can start to voice it.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts. Mr. Keener, are you back with us?” She stands at the foot of the bed, observes the way Harley’s struggling to pull himself away from Tony’s touch.

“Hi, Dr. Cho,” Harley’s able to mumble, the words vibrating against Tony’s hand. “How long have I been out?” His eyes flicker to the doctor standing at the end of his bed, then back to Tony. The man’s warm brown eyes are wide open, and all Harley wants to do is sink into his arms. He settles for leaning into Tony’s hand, rubs his cheek harder against it, relishes the small chuckle Tony makes in response.

“You’ve been out for a day, Harley. When Mr. Stark and Peter brought you up from the lab, you were in and out for a while, but then you settled down and slept through the night. They brought you up yesterday morning – you’ve been asleep for almost twenty hours.”

“What’s in the bags?” Harley doesn’t miss the way Cho locks eyes with Pepper. He’s still drowsy, and floating, but the longer Tony keeps a hand on him the more grounded he feels.

“Just some fluids, and electrolytes. We were concerned you were dehydrated, since Friday had no record of you eating or drinking anything other than coffee in the lab.” Harley respects Cho – he respects her enough to know that she wouldn’t lie to him.

“I want them out, as soon as possible.” He manages to pull himself away from Tony’s grasp, sits up in the bed.

“That depends on how your follow up labs look. I pulled labs before starting fluids at Mr. Stark’s request – you were very close to dehydration. Your body wasn’t functioning, your kidneys stopped filtering out wastes. I’d rather leave them in, let those bags finish, draw labs again – then, based on the results, we can discuss removing the lines.” Her tone isn’t harsh, but it’s clear to Harley – it’s not up for discussion. He’s tied to the bed for the foreseeable future – the bags are dripping slowly into his veins. He’s not in control.

“How long?” Harley reaches out, grasps onto Tony’s hand. The loss, even for a few seconds, of the other man’s warmth, was enough to send him back into the floaty part of his brain. He needed to stay grounded.

“Another few hours. I can get some lunch brought up, since it’s past eleven. I’m sure Peter wouldn’t mind bringing it up for you,” Cho’s clearly getting ready to go – she steps around Pepper, double checks the IV pumps are running. She pulls Harley’s hand, the one Tony isn’t holding, away from his body, inspects the dressing and tape holding the catheter in place. “These look good, so I’ll be back in a bit to draw some labs. Any requests for lunch?”

Harley shakes his head, looks at Tony.

  
“Thanks, Cho, appreciate it. We can chat later.” Tony dismisses her, still focused on the way Harley seemed about to float away.

The three of them – Harley, Tony, and Pepper – sit in silence, the two adults waiting for Harley to say something, anything.

“When are we going back to the Tower?” Harley ducks his head, rucks a hand through the bangs falling into his eyes. He pulls his hands in to his chest, lets one of his hands rest in the crook of his other elbow. Harley pinches, every other breath he takes – the pain is keeping him grounded, keeping him from floating away.

“I’m not sure yet, Harley,” It’s Pepper who answers, sitting back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other. She rests her arms on the arms of her chair, a casual pose if Harley didn’t know any better. “Not for a while, I don’t think. Tony has a lot of recovery to get through, and,” She pauses, takes a deep breathe. “We both think it might be good for you to take a break, from the Tower, for a bit. Just enjoy nature.”

He’s drowning, no, he’s falling, he’s halfway down the Marina Trench – and there’s no water to catch him. _Take a break?_ Harley doesn’t know how to take a break; he doesn’t know how to relax. The only time he stops is when he’s gone – when the space behind his eyes is empty and his hands and feet are tingling so much he’d think they’re asleep. He has no idea how to keep going when he doesn’t have a purpose, doesn’t have a task – Tony makes jokes, says both of them are robots at heart, better with mechanics than people – and it’s so true, so true for Harley, because he doesn’t know how to not run purely on protocols. It feels selfish to run a protocol for himself.

“Okay.” He says, clamps his mouth shut. He keeps pinching his arm. He doesn’t look at Tony, or Pepper.

It’s quiet again. _There’s been a lot of quiet_ , Harley thinks. _It’s my fault that it’s quiet._

“I’m going to see if we can head to the cafeteria for lunch, okay? We can get out of this room for a bit.”

Harley nods at Pepper’s words, lets her place a hand on his shoulder. He watches as she helps Tony into a wheelchair, wheels him out of the room.

The room is empty, it’s just him. He looks around – it’s sterile, decorated in all white, Tony’s typical high-end hospital chic. The only splotch of color is Harley himself, his brown hair against the white sheets, his blue blanket across his lap.

“Friday, can you bring up my file?” He doesn’t speak loud enough to alert anybody – he’s not sure if anyone’s listening in near the door.

“ _No, Harley, I cannot. Boss has specified for me to now allow you access to any files, up to and including project work, medical files, and base coding._ ”

Why can’t he see his own files? It’s his medical information, it’s not state secretes – he shouldn’t have to ask permission to see his own information. Unless – there’s something they’re hiding from him, something they don’t want him to see. Something that could end his life before it even has a chance to start, or some kind of disease, or some kind of disorder that can’t be fixed, and they’re trying to hide it until they can get rid of Harley –

“Harley?” Peter’s voice comes from down the hallway, startling Harley out of his anxiety-induced spiral. “Is it okay if I come in?”

The younger boy’s voice, hopeful and soft, winds its way around Harley’s thoughts, soothes him. He’s able to slow down his pinching, able to release the tension he’s holding in his muscles. “Sure, Peter.”

Harley scoots over, lets Peter sit on the side of his bed. The two stare at each other, Peter twining his hands together and kicking his legs gently, Harley stock still, waiting.

“Can I give you a hug?” Peter’s quiet whisper breaks the fragile silence that’s built between them.

Harley waits a second, feels his heart thump in chest, nods his head.

Peter moves slowly, slides closer to Harley. He reaches out, slips his arms around the older boy’s torso, rests his head against Harley’s shoulder. Their bodies aren’t lined up, not even close – it’s nothing like the way they’d embraced in the lab, or the way Peter had held Harley while he slept off the drugs – but it throws Harley back into the moment they kissed, anyway. He holds Peter, feels his heart beat steadily against his own chest, and remembers the way the smaller boy had groaned in response to Harley biting his lip, and the way the skin of Peter’s stomach had felt against his fingers – like velvet, smooth, and soft. He remembers leaning over the futon, watching Peter’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks while he slept, head on Harley’s pillow, wrapped in Harley’s blanket.

It’s intoxicating in the best way, to feel Peter against him, to rest his face in Peter’s hair, to stroke up and down his back, feel the way he relaxes even more, lets Harley take more of his weight.

“Please don’t leave, Peter,” He whispers.

He feels Peter start to move, feels his abs and shoulders tense, and Harley clutches harder, tries to keep the smaller (in height only) boy where he’s resting.

“I won’t go anywhere, Harley,” Peter’s breath spills into the divot of Harley’s collarbone, hands slipping under his shirt to run up the knobs of his spine. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know that vine that's like "live laugh love"? more like alive ahaha fuck? 
> 
> yeah that's my whole week
> 
> school sucks i'm so sorry it took me w bit to get this out. hopefully i'll finish chapter 3 in the next few days? i dunno yet tbh. 
> 
> as always: comments and kudos are my lifeblood!! thank you so much for the kind reception :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: harley's kind of in touching at a dissociative episode, so that could be triggering for some people. little bit of talking about anxiety. not super sure. if you think there's something that should be a trigger warning please let me know!!!!

_Five minutes_ , Harley thinks, bent over the kitchen sink, _that’s all I want – five whole minutes where I don’t have to figure out if I still deserve to be alive, or even if I want to be alive anymore. I would like five whole minutes without questioning why I exist._

He’s standing in the kitchen of the cabin, trying to draw a breath in through his shriveled raisin lungs, and tamp down on the panic bubbling up in his abdomen, threatening to spill out.

“Dammit,” He gasps, letting his head hang down over the sink. He’s playing the waiting game, now – is he going to vomit because there’s a bundle of anxiety, and panic, and worry twisting his stomach into knots, or is he going to vomit from starting new medication? “Jeez, fucking, just,” His own groan cuts off the rest of the expletives.

He’s been standing in the kitchen for hours, it seems – the cabinets were _wrong_ , the shelves weren’t _organized_ , he had to _fix it_ before he could rest. The cabin won’t feel like home until he’s touched every bit of it, until he’s put the plates above the bowls, and the glasses on the bottom shelf, and the strainer needs to be on top of the biggest pot, or it _won’t be right_ and he can’t breathe when it’s not right.

(Shit, it’s not like he can breathe anyway, but it’s a nice thought, that maybe if he fixes everything he’ll be able to breathe again. Because that’s how his anxiety works. He has a problem, and then he fixes it, and then he can breathe again. Totally normal, totally fine.)

Harley gives up on standing over the sink, decides if he’s going to vomit he might as well do it outside, where he can’t see how wrong the kitchen is.

The sliding of the door, the beep of the alarm – it’s so _loud_ in the quiet of the morning. He’s not sure what time it is, he just knows he never went to bed. He didn’t even try – didn’t have the energy to pretend to sleep, to listen to Peter’s quiet breathes in the dark.

  
They’ve been sharing a room since the three of them – Harley, Peter, and Tony – left the Compound two weeks prior. Pepper went back to the Tower, she had meetings and she had to keep running the company, had to keep working, because she picked up Tony’s slack so he could stay with Harley, in a cabin in the woods, and wasn’t that just something else for Harley’s guilt complex to twist into a dagger and shove into his stomach at the most opportune moment? Harley couldn’t cope with living, couldn’t cope with the idea of losing Tony, was so astronomically _fucked up_ that he could barely be left alone.

Peter was there, with them – he was doing some kind of virtual school, not actually attending classes, just doing the work and taking tests – because Harley’s brain wasn’t even functioning, was just _a bag of literal cats_ and fuck if he wasn’t allergic to cats. Peter’s aunt had to work, so she went back to the city with Pepper, and came back every weekend. May was nice, and motherly, and a tad hippie-like – her and Tony got on like a house on fire, and Harley adored May’s visits for no other reason than Tony’s sake. The man would smile, and tease, and sound like himself again when she was around, instead of staring at Harley with a crease between his eyebrows, one side of his mouth quirked up and the other dragged down.

Regardless: Harley _couldn’t sleep_ , not when he could barely breathe, so he didn’t even bother following Peter to their room after the three of them watched WALL-E on the couch, Harley squished in between the other two, Peter absentmindedly playing with their intertwined fingers and Tony’s arm around his shoulders.

(Peter hadn’t tried to kiss him again, not since that night when Harley had cracked, down the middle – and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing, but some nights, the only thing that gets him through is the memory of the way Peter had sighed when Harley ran his hands across his hips, the way Peter’s cheeks had flushed, the way his hands had swept up and down Harley’s body, leaving trails of fire in their path.)

_(The emotional train wreck that was Harley’s brain may have knocked out any desire he had to do stuff with Peter, especially in the cabin with Tony down the hall, but the easy, casual affection Peter offered was a lifeline to the older boy. Harley also appreciated the way Peter didn’t bring it up again, when he crawled into bed with him at night. Sometimes, feeling Peter’s warm breath on his cheek, and sliding an arm around the smaller boy’s torso was the only way to actually rest – rest, not sleep. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d slept through the night.)_

Harley had waited for the other two to get up, yawning, stretching – before stretching back out in their warm spots, hogging the blanket they’d had spread across all three of them and wrapping it around himself. It was selfish – it smelled like Tony, and like Peter – the combination of motor oil, and grease, and coffee, and outside, was almost better than drinking, almost as intoxicating. He’d mumbled an excuse about wanting to watch some more TV before going to bed, and waited for the two to exchange a glance.

It was too late for them to sit back down, since Harley had taken up the whole couch, and the exhaustion was clear in Tony’s eyes. Harley watched as Peter and Tony looked at each other, words seeming to pass between them, unspoken.

“Alright, kiddo, just make sure you aren’t up too late, okay?” Tony had stooped down, pressed a kiss to Harley’s forehead, rubbed a hand through the hair tangled on the crown of his head. “Good night, bud. Let me know if you need anything,”

Peter had been a tougher nut to crack – he was nearly as stubborn as Harley, when it came down to it, but it hadn’t been hard to outlast the smaller boy, especially once Peter’s eyes had started to slide shut. It’d been easy, Harley reflected, to tug Peter against him, let him fall asleep against his chest. Once Peter was asleep, he’d simply slipped out from the smaller boy’s grasp, carried him up to their room, laid him on top of the covers. Then, Harley had slipped out of the room, shut the door behind him. He glanced down the hallway, saw Tony’s door was cracked, but mostly shut.

Finally alone, he’d gone to the kitchen, and stared at the cabinets, and opened every single one of them, trying to find the exact source of his discomfort – before realizing that the problem wasn’t hidden behind a stack of dishes, or in a closet – it was Harley.

The problem was, Harley wasn’t getting better. They’d left the Compound after a week of Harley laying in his bed, not speaking, not even to Peter, who’d wedged his way into the other boy’s heart with quick witted comebacks and endearing clumsiness. He hadn’t left his bed, had barely eaten, Tony was tearing his hair out, trying to figure out how to get into his thick skull.

Harley wouldn’t let anyone in – it was easier to lay in the darkness, let the panic, and sadness, and fear wash over him. He didn’t bask in it, that would imply he had control, no, he was drowning in it, he was giving in to the waves that were breaking on the shore over the sharp rocks.

He sank into his own thoughts, stretched out on the grass in the backyard. He could see the stars above him, could feel the way the grass tickled at his palms where it laid by his sides. There were animals moving in the trees a few feet away, he could hear them, beyond that, he could hear the water of the lake moving against the dock. It was soothing, to have such a peaceful place to float away.

Harley lay on the grass, let his eyes slide shut. It was cold, he could feel the numbness in the tips of his fingers, and the tip of his nose. He imagined he could feel his veins constricting in his limbs, shunting blood towards his organs, trying to preserve warmth. He tried to imagine what the tissues in his hands and feet felt like – desperate for oxygen, desperate for nutrients, desperate for anything – but not getting it. He could relate, could imagine how it felt to just slowly disappear down, to slowly have all feeling stripped away, to tumble downhill, picking up speed.

It was more therapeutic than actual therapy, at least for the moment – his therapist, Isabelle-call-me-Izzy, was nice, and she didn’t scare him, but he didn’t know how to talk about the gaping hole in his chest. It was easier to hum along while she strummed a guitar and waited for him to say something, anything.

The progress reports Izzy the therapist sent to Tony were something else, to be certain – since Harley was a minor, and probably classified as an active suicidal threat, Tony had asked for progress reports, to have some kind of guide for helping him, and Izzy was barely giving him anything. She knew kids like Harley, knew that if they were going to get anywhere in their professional relationship, if he was ever going to trust her, she couldn’t tell Tony anything, so she didn’t. Tony received the same report Izzy sent to insurance, and to Cho – a list of diagnoses with just vague enough explanations to leave Tony pulling his hair out.

Tony had tried talking to Harley, tried to reach out, tried to pull him out of the ocean of despair the boy had fallen into, but the one time he tried to talk about anything that scratched beyond the bare surface of what Harley had been projecting on the surface, the kid shut down – Tony could watch as the light faded from his eyes, as the fake smile slid from his lips, as his shoulders pulled up around his ears. Harley didn’t come out of the dissociative state for hours after, and it was enough to dissuade Tony from trying again.

It wasn’t that Harley was trying to push down the hurt, and the trauma, and the sadness – he couldn’t talk about what he didn’t know. He’d spent the entirety of his life tamping down his feelings, tamping down the emotions bubbling over in his chest, and he’d never figured out, or learned, how to put words to his feelings and let them free.

So, he laid in the grass, and let the cold wind bite at him until the way he felt outside matched the way he felt inside, until the sky started to change shades, from black to navy to progressively lighter shades of blue until the sun peeked over the horizon, created a watercolor painting that brought Harley back to himself, just enough for him to sit up, shake off the morning dew that had settled on his skin, and head back inside.

Harley sat on the floor of the kitchen, leaned against the stainless-steel dishwasher, propped his elbows on his knees, and he waited.

It’s Peter that finds him, still leaning against the dishwasher, head tipped back, eyes shut. It’s Peter who crouches down, pulls Harley into his arms, and lifts. It’s Peter who carries Harley to their room, sets him on his own bed, tugs off his shoes. Peter unlaces his shoes, unbuttons Harley’s flannel and tugs it off, leaving the taller boy in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

It’s Peter who lays next to Harley, even though it’s late morning, even though he’s been sleeping all night, and pulls the lankier boy’s limbs down so Harley’s head is resting on the pillow, body cushioned by the mattress. It’s Peter who stays awake, keeps watch – for nightmares, and because fuck if he doesn’t have his own anxiety, his own little spiral when he doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night and hear Harley breathing. So he watches Harley breath, smooths away crinkles in his eyebrows with a gentle thumb, revels in the tiny snuffles he makes as he breathes.

Peter’s not sure what love is, but he knows Harley isn’t in a place to love someone else. He’s not blind, he can see the way Harley struggles to get through a day – the way he stoops his shoulders over to make himself smaller, the way he picks at his food, the stiffness Harley holds himself. Peter’s observant, and it extends to Harley.

He thinks Harley needs a friend, more than a lover. Peter’s been there, has been at the point where he barely cared about himself, let alone someone else. He hadn’t figured it out alone, he’d needed his friends, and Aunt May, and Tony. He’d also had to want to get better.

Harley doesn’t want to get better. Peter can see it in his eyes, can see the dead space, can see the way the taller boy is constantly fighting with himself, the way he pinches at his thighs. Peter knows that space, that dead, empty space where nothing matters and everything is gray, and he’d fought his way out of it, tooth and nail. He can’t fix Harley – but he can support him, and show him how to see the light through the clouds, and remind him that even if he can’t see the sun, it’s still there. Peter can take the weight, for a little bit – can be his life jacket, can help Harley float, in the ocean he’s sinking into, can keep him safe, can let him rest.

It’s what friends do. It’s what Ned and MJ did when Ben died. It’s what May does, every time she wraps Peter in her arms and tells him she loves him. It’s what Tony does, without even knowing it – by building protocols into his suit to protect him, and ruffling a hand through his hair, and calling him _Spider-baby_. It’s what’s kept him from just letting go, early on after creating the web fluid – swinging through the city, it was like flying, and it had been dangerous, really, for someone who was barely letting themselves grieve to go out and flirt with death every day. Regardless, Peter did, and he didn’t let go, he didn’t give in to the little voice, asking how it’d feel to just fall and hit the ground. He’d fought, and kept moving, and reached out – to Ned, to MJ, to May, to Tony.

On the other side of it, he could see just how bad he’d gotten, how low he’d sunk into the grief he wasn’t allowing himself to truly feel. Peter was still embarrassed, some days, that he’d acted the way he did, and been so indifferent – but MJ and Ned wouldn’t hear it, wouldn’t let him apologize.

He thinks Harley needs someone like MJ, someone to tell him to cut this shit out, to feel whatever he feels and acknowledge it and move through it. He knows Harley needs someone like Ned, who had slept in the top bunk of Peter’s bed nearly every night following Ben’s murder, someone who hugged freely and openly.

“Can hear you thinking,” Harley’s soft murmur startles Peter out of his thoughts, the older boy’s breath fanning across Peter’s collarbone raising goosebumps in its wake.

“You never came in last night,” Peter mumbles back, matter-of-fact in the same way Harley always is.

Harley hums, pushes his face against the younger boy’s neck. “Couldn’t sleep,” He sighs, “Just wanted to be alone for a while.”

Harley’s quiet confession hangs in the silence. He’s not sure why he’d been honest – he’d meant to just shake it off, say he wasn’t tired – but something about the way Peter’s hand is rubbing up and down his back and the way the other boy’s skin is warm against his is almost enough to draw Harley out of the spiral of his thoughts.

“It’s okay if you want to be alone, Harley,” Peter whispers, “Just have to talk to me, let me know.”

Harley hums, Peter feeling the vibration against his neck more than actually hearing it. Their whole bodies are touching – Harley’s sprawled on top of Peter, the taller boy dwarfing the smaller. Their legs are tangled, hips aligned, Harley’s arms slipped tight around Peter’s waist. Harley’s face tilted to rest in the dip of Peter’s collarbone, his warm breath puffing down the neck of Peter’s shirt.

They’re frozen in time, moving so slowly that it feels like they’re in slow motion.

“Harley,” Peter’s words are lost in the rustle of the sheets as they tip sideways so they’re facing each other, laying on their sides. Harley’s managed to move up the bed so they’re face to face.

“Darlin’,” One of Harley’s hands comes up, cradles Peter’s cheek. “You make me feel real.” He moves forward, rests his nose against Peter’s. They breathe together, every inhale and exhale together.

Slowly, Harley’s eyes slip shut, his hand slips down from Peter’s face until it’s resting between the two. Peter watches, brings his arm up to rest on Harley’s waist. _He’s fallen asleep again_ , Peter thinks, letting his eyes roam over the other boy’s face, lingering on his lips for far longer than he’d admit, _I hope he remembers this when he wakes up_.

Tony finds them, still laying face-to-face, a few hours later. He’d stayed in the doorway, leaned against the frame and just looked at his boys, wrapped up in each other in Peter’s bed.

Tony wasn’t sure if it was healthy, the way they were dependent on each other – especially since the two of them were more than platonic in every way, even if they weren’t acting on their feelings. It was obvious, watching the two move around each other like planets orbiting a sun. Peter’s eyes followed Harley around the room, Harley reached for Peter without even realizing he was doing it – Peter could talk Harley down from a spiral far better than Tony ever could, Harley could bring Peter out of a guilt-ridden funk about abandoning New York better than even May or Ned.

“That’s creepy,” Harley’s voice, gravelly with sleep, shook Tony out of his thoughts. The older man moved into the room, sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand in Peter’s hair while the smaller boy slept on. “Jus’ watchin’ us sleep, that is.”

Harley tracked every move Tony made – ever since that day in the med bay, he’d struggled with trusting him, and Isabelle-call-me-Izzy said it was just something that would take time to get back. It didn’t matter to Harley that Tony would never hurt him, the issue had everything to do with Harley’s dad, and his past – before he’d come to the Tower, the past he didn’t talk about because it hurt too much. Izzy said it would do him good to delve into it with Tony – Harley disagreed, wholeheartedly. _The past is better left there_ , Harley had told her at their last session, _I can’t change the past and neither can he, so what good would telling him about it do?_

“You okay, bud?” He’s been quiet for longer than Tony expected, Harley realizes.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harley sits up, pulls away from the loose grasp of Peter’s arm on his waist, tries not to miss the warmth of the younger boy’s body near his. “Just thinking,” He can’t look at Tony, can’t look into the older man’s brown eyes without the floodgates opening.

“Okay, Harley,” Tony’s voice is so quiet Harley can barely hear it.

“Are you guys being dumb again?” One of Peter’s eyes cracks open, settles on Harley’s face. “Why are we awake, isn’t it early?”

Tony can’t hide the smile breaking across his face as Peter flips onto his back and stretches, arms up over his head.

“Just came to wake you up, kiddo. I figured we could have lunch and then work in the shop for a while until Izzy and Kate are here.” Even Harley can’t hide the whispers of joy in his chest at being able to go back into the lab, back to working with his hands, back to creating something.

“We’re both cleared?” Tony’s nod is answer enough to Peter’s question, reassurance blooming in Harley’s chest. There’s something trickling through the cracks in Harley’s chest as he watches Tony stand up from the bed, pull Peter up with him. It’s different from the butterflies he gets when he looks over and meets Peter’s eyes, or the fear and guilt and worry when he looks at Tony – it’s new, it’s exciting.

  
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to go back in to work until Izzy said I could,” Harley asks. He’s still sitting on the bed, back pressed against the wall, legs hanging over the edge. He twists his hands together, presses them against his stomach. He doesn’t miss the look Tony and Peter share, the older man’s arm still slung over the younger’s shoulders.

“I talked to her this morning, bud,” Tony’s voice is quiet, but assured. “She’s okay with it as long as you are. I don’t think we’ll be doing much actual work, just some passion project type stuff.” Harley nods, pinches the space between his fingers with the fingernails of his other hand.

Peter watches, shifts from foot to foot. There’s something in the way Harley’s eyebrows are downturned, the way he’s clutching his hands to his stomach, the way he still hasn’t gotten up from his bed, that’s sending red flags up. “Harley?”

The youngest’s voice cuts through Harley’s internal spiral, pull shim back to the surface. He looks up, meets Peter’s gaze. “Yeah, Pete?”

Peter doesn’t say anything, just meets his stare evenly. Tony looks between the boys, tries to catch either of their gazes.

“I’m going to start breakfast,” Peter steps forward, takes one of Harley’s hands in his and cradles it to his cheek. “I’ll tell Friday to get you guys when it’s ready, okay?” 

“Wait, Pete,” Before Tony can say anything else, Peter plants a kiss on Harley’s palm, spins on his heel and walks out, still in his pajamas. He shuts the door behind him.

Harley’s gaze swings around the room, settles on Tony, who’s almost vibrating with anxiety. There’s so much unsaid between them – they haven’t actually talked about what led to Harley in the med bay, or the cabin, or anything, really. Their best conversations prior to Siberia happened when they were both focused on work, something to look down at and work on when talking about their feelings was too much.

“I think he wants us to talk.” Harley’s voice cuts through the silence. “Seems like there’s something you have to say, Tony,”

The older man sighs, pads over to the bed beside Harley, sits heavily. Tony brings a knee up, faces the younger man. “Kiddo, I have to admit something, I have no idea what to do here. I’m flying by the seat of my pants, and it’s terrifying.”

Harley blinks, head jolting back in shock. Out of everything he’s imagined Tony would say to him since shit hit the fan, this? This wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities.

“What are you talking about?” He takes the easy route – if Tony expands, maybe it’ll make more sense, and then Harley won’t feel like he’s the one confused as hell.

Tony sighs, again, scoots his way up the bed to situate himself next to Harley against the wall.

“Look, Harley, I just want to do right by you. I know you’re struggling, I can see it,” There’s an open earnestness in Tony’s eyes when Harley turns his head towards him. “I just want to help you. I don’t know how to help you, and I don’t want to help you because you’re something to fix, Harley. I want to help you because you’re my kid.”

A third sigh, the largest yet. Tony’s shoulders droop, a weight released off his shoulders with his confession.

Harley’s reeling, stuck on being called _Tony’s kid_ , stuck on the fact that even with how much crap Harley’s been putting him through, and all the bullshit, the fact that Tony still wants him, is still there, trying to talk to him, trying to help him? Utterly inconceivable.

“I was scared you didn’t want me anymore.” Harley admits, voice so quiet it’s almost droned out by the fan, spinning on the ceiling.

“Oh, god, Harley, no,” Tony slides even closer, slips an arm over his shoulders and pulls the younger man’s head onto his shoulder. “Harley, I will always want you here, buddy. You’re my kid,”

Harley’s crying, tears soaking into Tony’s shirt. He clutches at the older man’s shirt, grasping tightly at all that he’d thought he’d lost. “I thought you didn’t want me, and I was going to have to go back, and I didn’t know what to do,”

His cries are lost to Tony’s shoulders, then to his chest as Tony pulls him almost into his lap and cradles him to hug him tightly.

“Harley James, you are my son. That’s a forever kind of thing, okay? I will always want you here, and Pepper will, too. You never have to go back, not unless you want to. You’re not on your own, Harley, you have us. You have me, and Pep, and Peter, and May – we’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Tony rocks his son back and forth, holds him as his shirt slowly soaks with weeks of unshed tears. This was the moment, the big breakthrough – and it had been because Peter had left them in a room together.

He keeps rocking Harley, gently, runs his hands down the younger boy’s back and through his hair. Eventually, he cries himself out, sits up and wipes the tears off his face with his sleeve, sniffles loudly a few times. Tony watches, keeps a hand on his son, hands him tissues from the box on the bedside table.

“Sorry for crying on you,” Harley’s head hangs, chin almost touching his chest. “I didn’t know it was gonna be like that.”

“Like what, bud?” Tony’s question is soft, matches Harley’s tone. He reaches a hand out, tips Harley’s chin up so their eyes lock.

“I just, I guess,” Harley looks away, sweeps his bangs away from his forehead with one hand. He reaches for Tony with the other, takes the older man’s hand and clutches. They’ve never held hands, not like this – but it’s soothing, and comforting, and Harley can just barely feel Tony’s pulse in his wrist, proof he’s there, and alive. “I didn’t realize how much I was holding back.”

Tony chuckles, uses their twined hands to pull Harley against his chest again, hugs him tightly. There are tears threatening his vision, too – not that he’d admit it to Harley.

“It’s okay, Harley,” Tony rests his chin on Harley’s head, presses a kiss to the top amongst the curls. “We’re going to be okay; I swear. You’re going to get better, and I’m going to get better, and we’re all going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so that vine that's like "you are my dad (you're my dad!) boogie woogie woogie" has been stuck in my head for days and nothing else matters 
> 
> sorry it took me a minute to update, life kicked my butt this week and thus i had a hard time doing anything besides existing whoop de freakin do 
> 
> let me know what you think!!!!! (also if there's something specific you think should happen - i'm all ears :) )


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